


Till Death do us Part

by fancyfanstuff



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Related, F/F, season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 19:00:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18745141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancyfanstuff/pseuds/fancyfanstuff
Summary: Can you come over?When Regina receives a late night message from Emma, she's on her way before thinking twice about it. Her worries prove right because indeed, Emma has a confession or two to make.Aka, the one that started out as a regular dark story until I decided to hurt us all some more.





	Till Death do us Part

**Author's Note:**

> Folks,  
> After all the fluff I spread over the past weeks, my brain decided it needed a radical change to de-sugar. Then this happened.  
> While apologizing in advance, I still hope you'll enjoy reading!

_Can you come over?_

Regina stares at the message one more time, failing to make sense of it, before she stores her phone away and turns the ignition key. The Mercedes shudders to life, its headlights sharp and bright against the surrounding darkness. It's late, too late in fact, for an impromptu visit at Emma's - Regina should have declined. And yet, when the text came in some ten minutes ago, the jingle innocent and almost inaudible over the humming of her hairdryer, she had barely hesitated before typing out an _On my way_. 

Slowly peeling out of her parking space, Regina sighs and flicks on the car radio to distract her from the deserted streets. Quarter past ten on a Tuesday night, what is Emma even thinking? What is _she_ thinking, agreeing to the offer without so much as asking one question? It's not like she would have gotten an answer, Emma being more closed off than ever these days, moody too, restless. Which is why Regina put on shoes instead of pyjamas, dried her still damp hair with a streak of magic and recorked the wine bottle awaiting her next to the book she's been trying to read for ages. Emma better has a good reason for this miserable sounding message. And miserable it was, devoid of her usual opulence of emojis, repeated question and exclamation marks, and follow-up texts to explain her dactylology. And now Regina's seriously concerned.

Fortunately, the drive isn't all that long and before Regina realizes it, she finds herself facing the impressive mansion that is Emma's new house. Twelve windows point to the street, none of them shows any sign of light. Regina frowns. She's tempted to check her phone again, to make sure that it was indeed _Emma_ inviting _her_ and not the other way around - from the looks of it she could as well have dreamed the whole story. But her phone is lost somewhere in the depths of her purse, the moonless night too dark to find it quickly and Regina's teeth are beginning to shatter from the cool draft deriving from the nearby sea. Deciding it's not worth it, Regina stalks up the broad stairway leading to Emma's entrance door and rings the bell.

To her surprise, Emma opens almost immediately, her figure a mere silhouette against the darkness that extends inside the house. 

"Regina," she says and it sounds so relieved, as if she thought Regina wouldn't show up. And when she motions for Regina to come in, that gesture is desperate too, frantic even, like a diver sucking in that first mouthful of oxygen after having been submerged for too long.

"Why did you text me?" Regina asks, pushing those gloomy thoughts aside. The feral side to Emma would recoil as soon as she let her alarm show, and so she assumes a faked nonchalance as she follows Emma into the hallway. 

Emma shrugs, the movement only vaguely perceptive, but her words are heavy with significance when she replies: "I needed a drinking buddy." 

"Don't you have a pirate for that?" The questions leaves Regina's lips before she can check it.

And it's only because Emma chooses this exact moment to flick the switch of a standard lamp that Regina sees her flinch. She is about to raise her eyebrows, but the look Emma's shooting her is tense and so she schools her features into a neutral expression, pretending she didn't see the flash of guilt on Emma's face.

"Not that I'm surprised that you prefer my company over his," she adds in a deliberately light tone when Emma doesn't speak. "Besides, red wine is so much better than rum." And with a snap of her fingers, the bottle from her bedside appears in her hand. 

"Right," Emma says, sounding relieved about the excuse, "I was in a wine mood and you know how men can be."

"I beg to differ." Regina forces a smile, then ushers Emma into the living room and turns on the lights before the blonde can protest. In the sudden flash of cool unforgiving white, Regina can investigate Emma properly for the first time. The sight is startling to say the least: Deep rings of indefinable colour have formed under her eyes, that, usually ablaze with energy and power, look dull and jaded. Despite the uncomfortable warmth prevalent in the room, Emma's wearing her red leather jacket over a knit turtleneck and is still shivering underneath. She looks ill and tired and, most concerningly, like she's given up. For all her intentions not to pry, Regina simply can't hold back the breath of worry that leaves her at the realization.

" _Emma_ ," she sighs, and is disgusted herself at the pity dropping from the two syllables. She expects the blonde to flare at the implication of weakness, to declare her independence, to flat out throw her out again. She doesn't expect Emma to falter. And yet she is witnessing how her friend - fiery saviour, glorious magician - sags, her body deflating like it's merely a case around nothing but hot air. 

Regina starts forward, an impulse to catch Emma sending her arms out, but before she can reach her, Emma's already standing up again. She straightens her spine, raises her chin, polishes her devastated features into the illusion of a smile, and although Regina's heart is brimming with the wrongness of it all, she redraws her hands. The insecurity about what to do next is clouding her vision, so she nearly misses Emma's gaze brushing hers. The green depths of her eyes are wide, pleading, and Regina can't ignore the hurt in them but at the same time she can't force Emma to talk. Her helplessness shocks her, crushes her into silence until Emma, upon noticing her hesitation, speaks.

"About the wine... Would you mind having something stronger?"

The words reviberate with a silent plea, the meaning not lost to Regina, who, with a deep sigh, assents to Emma wishes. If Emma doesn't spill her problems now, maybe she will after a glass or two.

*

Regina's right. It takes Emma half a bottle of vodka and two glasses of red wine, until she falls back into the couch, sighing in a curious mixture of a strangled sob and desperately gasping for air.

"I'm not tired," she whispers, more to herself than to Regina, who's sitting opposite her in the armchair, feeling dizzy of the alcohol although she didn't even have much, having stopped drinking as soon as Emma ceased caring about being the only one to down one glass after the other. "I'm not tired," and it sounds like a mantra, as if she's trying to persuade herself of it.

"You look tired though," Regina observes carefully, her eyes never leaving Emma's form as she is gauging the effect her words have. Emma shudders but that could just be a reaction to the large gulp of wine she took.

"I can't sleep," she murmurs, not slurring a bit although she must be drunk for sure by now. "I go to bed but sleep won't come. I want to sleep, I _need_ to sleep, but..." her voice breaks, she takes another sip of wine, rendering her glass empty once more. When she reaches for the bottle, Regina stops her.

"I think it's time for a break from this," she says, gently but firmly, not betraying the panic welling up inside her. Emma appears to be even more unstable than she first thought, her conduct slowly but surely frightening Regina. Still she keeps her voice calm. "Instead, why don't you tell me about what it is that keeps you awake?"

Emma shoots her a suspicious glance, still vigilant despite the alcohol. Regina does her best to answer it with an assuring smile.

"How crazy does it sound if I say visions?" Emma finally breathes out, her hand trembling the slightest bit. Regina on the other hand stills completely.

"What kind of visions?" She prompts softly after a second, though she's dreading the answer. Emma's had visions before. They've never proven wrong. "What are you seeing?"

"My death." Emma's small voice makes it sound like a question and for a short moment Regina is stunned, then she leaps up.

"What?"

Emma looks up at her with miserable eyes. "I'm dying," she repeats, wincing when the words leave her tongue. Regina suspects it's the first time she's said them out loud. 

"But how?" She demands, aware that her magic crackles through her like an electric current, almost scorching her own fingertips, and she knows she has to calm down before she inflicts some serious trouble but it's hard, so hard when Emma's staring at her with fear spelled out all across her face. Still she forces herself to calm down, for Emma's sake, taking a few deep breaths, sitting down again, albeit only on the edge of the cushion. "How?" She asks again, holding Emma's gaze, trying to somehow communicate a sense of control. 

"I'm on the street, next to the clock tower," Emma begins to speak again, haltingly at first, but gaining speed when the images seem to catch up with her. "I'm fighting, sword-fighting against a hooded figure. My parents are there, Killian, Henry. I need to save them, the town, everyone. So I give it my all, attack and parry, then I try to use my magic. Except my hand is shaking, I can't control it. The moment I'm distracted with myself..." She trails off, leaving the end unspoken. Regina feels dizzy, not from the alcohol this time, but from trying to process what Emma just shared with her.

"Did you tell anyone?" She inquires, aiming to appear productive, helpful, when in reality, all she can focus on is Emma's hand, that has started shaking again as if by command.

"Only you," Emma whispers. Regina can't tell if she's supposed to feel honoured or overwhelmed. "I don't want to bother people with it." Maybe offended. "But I had to talk to _someone_."

"I feel honoured," Regina mutters dryly but the truth is, she does. Emma coming to her with her problems, trusting Regina that far, it means a lot. Regina only wishes she could be of better help.

"The thing is, it doesn't make sense to want to talk to you," Emma continues, oblivious of Regina's comment, too caught up in her own scenario to notice Regina stiffening. "After all, you're the only one who's not there on the street with me. Which means, you're either someplace else, which seems unusual. Or..."

"You think I'm the one under the hood," Regina interrupts, her own heartbeat too loud in her ears. After all these years, Emma still thinks her capable of killing her? The shock hits her like a wave, and suddenly she's the one gasping for air. Is this why Emma asked her to come? To make sure she wouldn't be able to do her any harm? To arrest her? Kill her? No, Emma wouldn't do that. Regina's certainty of that makes Emma's betrayal only hurt more, the realization that her trust is unrequited like a punch in the face.

"Regina," Emma's voice reaches her as if through dense fog and Regina blames the alcohol and the shock that it's taking her so long to focus on it.

"That's the point," Emma is saying, over and over again, "You see, that's the point. I should believe you're the figure, I should be afraid of you. But the point is, I'm not. I'm not, do you hear me?"

"Then why are you telling me all that?" Regina asks a touch sharper than intended, though relief is flooding her. She's tired and she's confused and maybe she's a bit inebriated, and Emma's nonsense is really not helping.

"Because," Emma says, making a significant pause in which she eyes the wine as if she wishes she drank more of it. "Because, although my mind's telling me to stay away from you, my instinct has always been to run to you."

"What?" Regina splutters for the second time this evening, and Emma closes her eyes. 

"Please hear me out," she whispers, effectively rendering Regina silent with the way her voice trembles. She seems to be afraid of Regina after all, nervous at least, and Regina finds herself taking a clunk of wine equally large as Emma's previous ones. Her stomach flutters at the impact.

"Proceed."

"I'm having visions about dying," Emma starts after a pause, and Regina inadvertently grimaces. Emma nods. "While that's certainly unnerving and weird and... scary... thinking about my death has also made me realize a thing or two." At this Emma looks up, directly at Regina, her green eyes honest and clear, holding Regina's gaze. 

"Your absence in my vision unsettles me more than the undefined identity of my opponent. So I realized that you make me feel safe." Regina's breath catches - how's she supposed to react to this kind of confession? - but Emma isn't done yet. 

"I also realized that I rely on you. That I want you beside me. In combat as in everyday life. In good times as in bad." Her voice drops into a whisper. "Till death do us part." 

A tear rolls down her cheek at those last words, and it's only when a sob shudders through Regina that she realizes that she's been crying for a while already. All those weeks, months, _years_ really, that she's spent pining for the saviour, only to find out now, when it's almost too late, that Emma's felt the same way all along. 

"Emma Swan," she says, planning to snort at the cruel irony but instead, a strange mix of laughter and another sob tumbles from her lips, "What are you even doing?" 

"Asking you to be my girlfriend of course," Emma replies weakly, her smile only marred by the streaks of mascara running down her cheeks. "I know I should have asked you on a date first, and you don't have to agree out of pity and oh god, I don't even know how you're feeling about me. All I know is that I don't want to spend my last days living a lie and I'm kind of running out of time to go the proper way and..."

Regina cuts her off with a kiss. She didn't plan to, didn't think, only stumbled across the carpet and fell into Emma's lap. Her knees scrape painfully against the zipper of Emma's jacket, her blouse stretches uncomfortably at her shoulders as she bends down, cupping Emma's cheeks in her hands, and her nose presses awkwardly against Emma's. Regina doesn't care about any of this as she sinks into the kiss, feeding on every shred of love Emma's willing to give, nipping, clawing, aching when Emma responds with equal fever. Their lips are flavoured with salt from the tears still streaming down both of their cheeks, salt and wine, and underneath the burn of vodka, still hidden in the corners of Emma's mouth and Regina's taking it all in. 

"You fool," she gasps inbetween two kisses, her hands scratching at Emma's scalp, "Why did it take you so long?"

"You're the one to talk," Emma moans as Regina bites a trail down her throat. She retaliates by dragging her fingers across Regina's back, "I was scared out of my mind to ask you, even today."

Regina growls, tracing the rings under Emma's eyes before pinning the blonde against the backrest. "Coward," she chides, when in reality she wants to say _Don't you dare leave me_. 

"Again, you're too," Emma counters, but when she's arching under Regina's touch, it's with a gasp that screams _I'm not ready to die_.

"What's about the pirate?" Regina has the sense to ask before she's peeling off Emma's tight jeans.

"Screw him," comes the reply, Emma already shuddering before Regina ever touches her.

"No," Regina breathes, her lips curling into a smirk that is all parts pain and zero parts regret, "Screw you." 

And then she does.


End file.
